


Make Me.

by eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Loss of Limbs, M/M, i like making nero suffer and for this im sorry, nero and dante get Beyond Homosexual, rushed ending oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar/pseuds/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People in Fortuna still think there's just one more demon left to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me.

It might be beautiful, on any other occasion.

The stained glass ceiling of Fortuna’s church, that is. The intricate details in the glass, the sharp and senseless pieces coming together to paint images of tales long passed. It would be beautiful, even distracting, if Nero’s situation weren’t so horribly terrifying beyond words.

There are a lot of voices right now. Former Knights of the Order barking commands, half of them on Nero’s right side, pinning his Bringer so tightly he could scarcely see its hopeful light. Someone is screaming, begging for this to stop and saying something about what Credo would want. But that voice doesn’t register - only the others do. How strange. 

Nero struggles. Something sharp digs into the joint of his shoulder, pressing only harder. The ex-Knight won’t move that arm - he can’t hurt these people, they’ll die. Nero only feels his body moving, feels his boots scrape uselessly against the marble floor. Is his mouth open? It must be, his throat is killing him. Does that mean he’s screaming? He can’t hear over other Order members yelling at each other. He can’t do much of anything - this feels like an earthbound crucifixion, an unholy baptism devoid of consent. But that pain in his shoulder is only getting worse, shooting closer and closer to bone. 

Nero last recalls being lulled into sleep by a grating pain, one far too intense to be ignored.

And when he wakes, his right side is sore. Very sore. He’s in a bed, one not his own, bandages secured over his right shoulder and under his left arm. They’re sticky, though; He’s bled through them.

Cold panic.

That’s what hits first. An icy fear gripping his very being, _it's gone,_ _it's not there, they took it by force_. Gone. Absent. Stolen in plain sight. How did he let this happen? How could this happen at all, and why? Why was this deemed _necessary_ , did they really think he was so dangerous…?

Nero laughs.

It starts small. Bubbles in his throat, slowly clawing and slithering up into his tongue, and pouring out of his mouth in a staggered, sick sort of way. It doesn’t get louder, it’s just a steady, humorless chuckle. It only starts to fade when he realizes just where he is - this is Kyrie’s home. And this is her bed, in her room, evident by the colors and makeup of the room. She must’ve brought him here.

Her headpiece for concerts rests on her dresser, and beside that is a roll of bandages, running thin. There’s a small jar presumably filled with some kind of salve, and a pair of scissors. 

Scissors.

They’re literally just kitchen scissors, ones you might use to make little paper snowflakes like Kyrie is so good at, but just looking at them makes Nero’s eyes burn. They sting, and the hunter knows it’s from tears unshed. There’s something _symbolic_  about them, something so terribly unsettling and final about them. Perhaps it’s that they were probably used to cut the final bit of bandages on his right side, or perhaps it’s that they were used to finalize something else, so long ago.

By the time he’s done pondering, he starts to realize that he’s only irritating his throat. Nero also notices that he’s hiccuping - but his choking is interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

Quickly, the boy wipes his eyes, and coughs a little too hard. 

“Nero…?” 

She’s so sweet. Kyrie peeks out from behind the door, clearly worried. But she seems to brighten upon making eye contact, “Nero! Nero, you had me so worried.”

I have myself worried, Nero thinks. “Yeah? Uh… Sorry.”

Kyrie seems to brush this off, giving him a bit of a lopsided, sad smile. This, too, disappears when she glances at his shoulder. She looks… Almost haunted. Upset. Like she lost something, too. “Um, you bled through your bandages, can I…?”

“Yeah,” Nero mumbles, “Go ‘head. Sorry about your sheets. ‘N prob’ly your mattress.” 

Kyrie hums. “Nothing a little tough scrubbing and vinegar can’t fix.”

The next couple of minutes is spent in silence, Nero not looking at his arm and trying not to feel nauseated because of the sickeningly sweet aroma of the salve.

And the next time he wakes, perhaps days later, it’s because of hushed voices just outside the door.

“And you didn’t call me the second this happened?”

“I’m sorry, really, I _panicked_ \--”

There’s a soft sigh. 

“...S’okay, girlie. You said he was good to go see, right?” 

“Yes, but please don’t antagonize him.”

“Oh boo, you take the fun outta everything.”

Nero closes his eyes again. But he knows by the sound of heavy boots on wood floor, Dante has come to visit.

That’s a relaxing thought, oddly enough. The room fills with the scent of gasoline and Jack Daniels, a smell Nero could never mistake for anyone else. There’s something about it that’s just _calming_ , that eases the younger hunter’s nerves enough to let him breathe. There’s another sigh, and the door closes.

“Well, now that the missus told me not to antagonize you, I dunno where this conversation’s s’posed to go,” Dante chuckles. He taps Nero’s temple, earning a scowl. “Open those blues, kid, I know you’re not passed out.”

Nero peeks an eye open.

“Ya look like shit.”

Dante barks a laugh. “Says you, layin’ here and--” He stops. And thank god he did, because Nero would’ve told him to get the hell out if he was gonna add another word. “...How are you?”

“ _I'm missing a fucking arm_.”

That must’ve answered the older man’s question, because he falls silent once more.

“Ya know,” He starts once more, “I didn’t come here to piss you off, kid. But considering what happened, I don’t trust a single fucker here. I don’t want you goin’ back into that church just so they can blow your brains out all over the pews and call it vox-populi,” Dante pauses to run a gloved hand over his mouth. “They did that to make ya docile.”

Nero blinks. Dante’s got a point. What would happen if he even went outside? Showed his face even anywhere near the church? What would they do to him, and what would he be forced to do in return? Questions dashed through the boy’s mind, all of them essentially unanswerable.

Dante speaks again. “...Point of that speech being, you always got a home at Devil May Cry.”

Nero’s head snaps to look at Dante so fast it makes him dizzy. “...Huh?”

Dante snickers. “Goin’ deaf too?” 

“Fuck off and repeat it, dude.”

“I said you can stay with me. Trish and Lady camp out there too, but they got their own room.”

Nero thinks about that. In leaving, Kyrie would be completely alone - but his own safety would be guaranteed. He wouldn’t need to watch his back all the time, and might be able to live semi-normally. “...I gotta think.”

A hand buries itself in his hair and ruffles. “Take your time. You ever wanna take me up, just gimme a shout.” As he stands to leave, dusting off the backs of his chaps, he huffs through his nose. “...Sorry ‘bout your arm, kid.”

It’s not an unwelcome apology. Some sympathy is nice. 

“...I’d say it’s fine, but--”

“To be honest, it ain’t. I get it. Just gimme a ring if ya ever want a place to crash. Got a couch with your name on it.”

After that, Nero doesn’t see Dante for days. 

It’s a quiet few days. Bandages being changed, phantom pains keeping him awake. He thinks a lot, and even talks with Kyrie about all possible options. Even she, too, advises him to see Dante about his offer. Nero thinks it’s because she’s too selfless - had he been opposed, she’d have sided with that.

Walking is difficult, he finds. 

It was something as simple as packing a dufflebag. He wanted to stand unassisted, to walk more than a few steps by himself. But without Kyrie to lean on, he realizes how difficult this task is. Without the weight on his right side, it makes walking a pain in the ass.

And _frustrating_. 

Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t use his dufflebag to balance his right side. Even the idea of it hurt, and Nero wasn’t willing to make the wound worse, no matter how quick it was healing up. This… Was going to suck.

 

\--

 

Devil May Cry isn’t so bad, actually.

Pizza’s always warm, beer’s always cold. And Dante’s been really cool. Nero’s taken his bed, at least for a few months, and probably because Dante pitied him. Which would usually be nothing but an igniter for his fury, but a little pity is nice sometimes and Dante doesn’t lay it on thick. It’s subtle.

One night, after Trish and Lady deemed themselves beat and headed to bed, Dante and Nero both decided to stay up, occupying themselves with a little food and TV. Of course, in the course of terrible movie events, a not-so-classy sex scene came to be.

“Bleh.” Nero mumbles under his breath, making the other laugh in response.

“Aw, c’mon. ‘S just sex.”

“Yeah, and it’s gross.” Nero huffs.

“You really are a kid,” Dante says, ruffling Nero’s hair just a little too hard. “It’s actually the best thing ever. You should know, seein’ as you had that girlfriend.”

“Not girlfriend,” Nero corrects, “More like sister.”

“You kissed!” 

“And we hated it!” Nero snorts, glancing over at Dante. “Mister know-it-all.”

“So you’re a virgin?” 

Nero goes pink. Really, really pink.

“No!”

Dante cackles a laugh, patting Nero on the shoulder. “You can say yeah, kid. No big deal.”

“...Okay yeah! What’s it matter?”

“Looping back to my original point,” Dante raises his beer in a cheers-like motion, “That’s why you think sex is ‘bleh’.”

“Pft, okay.” Nero shoves more popcorn into his mouth, chewing harshly. 

“...That your first kiss too?”

“I’m eighteen!”

“Just askin’!”

Nero feels his whole face heat up. He could lie - but it’s obvious that Dante can see right through them anyways. “What are you even getting out of this?”

“Sick entertainment.” 

“Fucker!” Nero smacks his chest with a good amount of force, but it only makes Dante laugh again. Which, of course, makes Nero crack a smile.

“So was it?” Dante raises both eyebrows.

“...Yeah. It was.” 

“Wanna have your second?”

 _Oh_. That was _smooth_.

Dante gets up to toss his bottle away, shrugging. “A ‘no’ would suffice. So would ‘fuck off, you horny old bastard’.” The last bit mocks Nero’s voice, but not heavily.

“Yeah.”

Dante stops mid-walk to turn on his heel and look at Nero. “...Don’t play with my pride, man.”

“‘M serious,” Nero scoffs quietly, “I’ve never kissed a guy before.” 

“Well,” Dante says, strolling over to where Nero’s stayed sitting, “It’s all sunshine and rainbows.”

But before Dante can even lean down to Nero’s level, Nero is up, his lips roughly against the other’s. And it’s… Nice. Weirdly so. Dante is quick to correct Nero and delve into teaching him, but the only thing Nero can focus on his how good Dante tastes. Like cheap beer, like strawberries. By themselves, Nero might not be so fond, but on Dante, it’s like heroin. 

There are two gloved hands on the sides of his neck and Nero is lost in it. His own hand rests on Dante’s shoulder, unsure of where else to put it. All he can think of is how much he wants this for the rest of his life.

Dante is the first to pull away, and when Nero tries to follow, he laughs softly.

“We got plenty more opportunities to keep mackin’ on each other, y’know.”

“Yeah, and here’s another one.”

Devil May Cry isn’t so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> I GOT THAT TWITTER DOE HMU AT @SSmokinSick


End file.
